Chapter 9
I lacked the willpower to move. Vision was unnecessary to know I had slid down the surface between the two worlds before having succumbed to both emotional and physical exhaustion. Attacked on all fronts and surely compounded by the vicious side of the opium, I had spent my final reserves, leaving me not even a shell of my former self. I was made aware by sensation alone that I was lying on the floor, my hand leaning against the cold unyielding glass of the mirror. Dimly I became aware that my other hand lay limply across the contours of an object. There was a red cast to my vision through the closed eyelids that matched the sensation of external warmth … it must be the sun through the window on my face.
My face. The object beneath my hand. It had to be my mask. I tried to summon up the strength to grip the mask and return it to where it belonged. The result was but a low moan. I could move if I really wanted to. The problem was that I found a complete void of desire to do anything. Maybe it was the throbbing headache or the deep sensation in my muscles of having been repeatedly abused or perhaps it was just how one felt after forcing themselves to face the reality of their deepest lifelong despair. Knowing how to pick oneself up off the floor and being capable of that action are two entirely different things. Slowly I opened my eyes to see my hand resting on the white mask. It seemed deceptively far away. The light from the sun casting upon me was entirely too bright. My eyes watered from the visual assault. Dismally I found that I could at least be content in waking with a roof over my head this time and not drowning in the rain. But the truth remained, I was far from content.
My fingers stroked the mask, an object I both loathed and could not live without. That was precisely why I loathed it, my very dependence upon it from my earliest memories. I could not be without it, yet even with that shield, I would still never be fully accepted. Mother had lied. She said that face in the mirror could never hurt me as long as I wore the mask. I had been a child, just a young and naïve boy who had his first horrific glimpse of his dark future. The memory of my bleeding fists with those shards of glass from the mirror I had shattered in my demented fear … even to this day I bear the scars on my hands if one looks close enough. The physical scars are not the ones that cut me the deepest … those were not visible.
Reluctantly I pulled my arm toward my body, catching the mask by my fingers and inching closer. It took great effort, but I managed to push myself from the floor and replace the mask. Sitting back on my knees, I slowly turned to face the mirror. I was still a wreck. My clothing was wrinkled from having dried while I was passed out on the floor. My eyes betrayed me, bloodshot and weeping from the irritation. My pupils were mere pinpoints drowning in the mismatched irises. Every motion I made was a hesitant, clumsy, twitch utterly lacking the typical elegance I usually portrayed. Instead, I resembled a marionette in the hands of a drunkard. There was no strength, no poise, no anything. I was worse now under the full effects of the hangover then from when I had first awoken from that twisted nightmare.
I had been such a fool thinking for even a moment that I could escape this. The damage was too deep, the wounds nursed far too long. Healing does not occur that swiftly; even for one who has defied death as often as I.
In the reflection of the dressing room mirror, I blinked twice, uncertain I could trust my vision. I had to wipe away the tears in my eyes just be certain even before I knew for a fact … I had not been alone. My shame had not gone unwitnessed. Bowing my head, I leaned against the mirror trying in vain to hide.
"Are you finally finished?" Nadir had been sitting in the shadows of the corner. Before I had buried my eyes, I had seen enough of his features to know he was gravely disappointed. His tone did nothing to cast doubt on his intent. He would have his talk with me, and I knew nothing I could do would change the outcome.
"Do you want the truth?" My voice was but a rough whisper, hoarse from screaming. How much had he seen? Or had he been kind enough to stay outside the door until my anguished cries had fallen silent.
"What do you think." The stern voice did not ask a question.
I sighed with a violent tremble. "Am I ever truly finished?"
"At least that is an honest answer from you." The anger in his voice was deep.
He stood up and slowly crossed to the center of the room. Trying to master myself, I glanced at him from beneath my arm before I let my gaze slip back at the floor. Stripped of everything I had no ability to influence him, he was entirely beyond my control … to be honest, I was beyond my control.
"Do you have any idea what you've done, Erik?" I did not need to look at him to sense his rage. When I did not answer him, he took another step, raising his voice. "Turn and face me when I'm talking to you. You owe me that much."
Slowly, I twisted around and sank my back against the mirror, bringing my knees against my chest. I felt like a miserable gargoyle. Cautiously, I stole a glance at him before my shame forced me to look down. I needed moisture in my throat, it was too raw.
He studied me for a long tense moment. "You look as though you have been dragged behind a carriage the entire length of the island."
"I feel like I have been—"
Nadir spat out, "Tell me, since you carried on with this madness, what did your dreams tell you? You know what they say of those dark visions, when it turns on the soul it reveals our deepest fears. What did it show you, Erik? It was certainly enough to banish every shred of your insufferable pride!"
I swallowed, my eyes shutting tightly against the dark shadows. There was not a force on earth that could have countered the ripple of dread that stole through me. " … bars … " I rasped, " … cold iron bars from before. Surrounded by the leering crowds, every limb was bound to the bars unable to hide my naked face. Gagged, unable to use my voice to plea for release, for my mask … for anything. I was truly powerless as the world saw me for what I was. A terrible twisted monster! A demon rent from the hell fires below. It was not just a nightmare, Nadir … it really happened."
"And so, what did you do to obtain this knowledge, oh wise one?" His voice grew sterner with each word. "You foolishly went to the room that is a shrine to one of your grandest follies and stared at yourself, screaming like a child in the grip of a night terrors. What madness produced that remedy?"
Shuddering, I pleaded with him. "Please do not say that word … Nadir."
"Madness?" He mocked me in return. "Seriously Erik, it is the kindest word I can think of now! Can you honestly tell me that the decision was built on logic?"
"No." I confessed, "It was desperation."
He reached down and forced me to look up at him, the fury in his eyes burning like embers. "And for your pains, you made it worse! I knew things were weighing on you. I knew her return would unbalance you again just as her presence had before. You're courting the Ghost again! For what? To be drunk on that power? I thought you might have grown beyond the need to control others. And here you are unable to control even your own actions!"
I blanched at those words. "I am trying … you do not know how much I am trying."
He growled as his hands gripped the lapels of my coat. "You want to know how much you sacrificed? How much just got stolen from you? Let me show you!" It took him hardly any effort at all to lug my body from the floor and hold me against the wall. I tried to resist realizing rapidly that I was utterly unable to. "Fight me, Erik! Come on! You have always been able to overpower me, both physically and mentally—until now!"
I hung there in his grip as I was held against the wall, feebly struggling to just break the lock of his fingers. "Nadir! Stop!" I was horrified to learn that I had been completely stripped of all my abilities to manipulate others. The reality of my nightmare and the shadow of the past slammed into me, showing me just how powerless I had rendered myself.
Still holding me firmly, he glared into my eyes. "Pathetic!" Releasing me, he let the wall take my cowering body. "Before me is a man who, when he was barely more than a boy, dared to defy a shah on pain of death by refusing to utter a single royal title. And yet, he cowers as a wall holds him up now because he surrendered everything to the fires of some demented dream. How could you, Erik?"
Stung by his words, I found strength enough to retort, "How could you leave me on the rooftop knowing what I was about to do? Why did you leave me there when the storm rolled in?"
His eyes narrowed. "At that time I could not have stopped you. Had I tried, you would have found a way. As far as leaving you in the rain, I had not realized how strong the storm was until I returned to the roof to find it empty. At first I thought you had fallen from the roof until I took a little more care in my search and discovered your wet tracks through the halls. I stayed outside the door here waiting, anticipating that you might break the mirror and hurt yourself. When at last you fell silent, I came in and watched you, making sure you didn't stop breathing. Allah knows why I cared enough to do that much."
I closed my eyes tightly against the raw emotions I had bitterly grappled with. "How long did I rant?"
"Long enough I had to chase off the servants several times. Long enough for Christine to be drawn up here, frightened half to death that you had truly taken full leave of your senses."
Freezing, I locked my eyes on him. "You did not … "
"Open the door?" He shook his head, his arms crossed his chest. "Of course not. I refused and sent her back downstairs, promising her that I would make sure you breathed when the sun rose. I have fulfilled my promise. Though, your sanity still remains in serious question."
At least she hadn't seen this room. At least she hadn't seen me like that. Pensively, I stood there staring at nothing as my thoughts tripped and stumbled over the events of the last days. The years apart had the curious effect of stabilizing my once rapid shifts from exuberance to melancholy. Yet recently I had swung back into the spiraling array that must have been dizzying to witness. Rarely had I felt even a twitch of the seizures that had troubled me in the lake house under the Paris Opera. That very condition I had purposefully mimicked to convince Christine I had passed on in her presence. And yet her innocent gesture had again cast me to the floor in a panic, unable to capture my breath. With the rise of this music hall, I had begun to feel that I may have finally conquered that apprehension, that I could achieve at least one of my dreams even though the world had forced me to sacrifice countless others. The source of Nadir's Ghost was still safely locked away. Without that insidious voice I was still in control, after all had I not let Raoul live? Did I not spare both Chantelli and Ruescher? Yes, I was now painfully aware of how often my hands occupied themselves. Even now I felt my fingers sliding through the silken tassels on the scarf lining the low marble table. I did not bother to suppress the nervous twitch. Instead, I let my eyes wander to watch my fingers, studying the clumsy movements that should have been grace personified. The change had been so rapid. The decline so clear to them. Was it any wonder they were assuming the worst.
The silence had lasted too long, Nadir's tense voice broke it at last. "If you refuse to speak then I will. Ten years ago in Paris I was witness to a display of insanity so reckless that even to this day I doubt my own memories of it. The chandelier, Erik. How many people in that packed Opera died under the weight? You once told me how many tons it weighed—"
"Seven … " I supplied distantly. Seven tons of glass and metal all crashed down from the central dome of the Opera House's ceiling, the cascade effect of the detonation charges I had placed on the counterweights shortly before that night's performance. All in cold blood. All in some mad desire to possess Christine one way or another. Even if it cost me the friendship of the very man who stood before me now.
He shook his head. "Seven tons. The fire that followed from the gas lights exploding as the fixtures were torn loose gutted the entire place. You destroyed your work of thirteen years in as many minutes."
I held up a hand, desperate to cease this torment. "Please … we have already discussed this."
"You are correct, we have. But I think you may have failed to fully comprehend just how much damage your moment of selfish lunacy produced. Just how close you came to dragging us all down with you." The edge of the anger was old, as if he had been suppressing it all these years, sparing me for some reason known only to him. Perhaps only now, when I had no hold on him, was he truly free to speak his full mind. "I knew you enough that when I watched your manipulation of the stone that led to your lair I suspected a trap. However, what I had not anticipated that night was that you had intended I saw. And planned on me bringing the Vicomte de Chagny. That you would have risked taking that many lives that night in your perverse scheme that she would choose you. I knew then, in that mirrored chamber, that you were not thinking at all. You were intending to murder the boy, sacrifice me in the process even after your promise not to kill again. All the while you failed to observe your demented desire was only destroying Christine. If your little scheme had succeeded, what would you have gained?"
I swallowed, the details of that shameful night cast so close together leaving a hollow pit in my stomach. He had been witness. I had been the monster behind it all. There was no arguing the simple fact that he had been in his right mind. While I had most certainly not been. I did not want to answer the lingering question, but the silence stretched on. When I glanced up, I saw him watching, waiting. he would wait an eternity for to me to admit it if he had to. " … nothing … "
"That's right, nothing. The victory would have been hollow. And now, circumstances are even less favorable. Christine is married. She has a son who is believed to be Chagny's. This is a temporary situation. She's only going to be here for few weeks and then an ocean will separate you once more."
I shook my head. "But it will not change what we know— she knows I live, and I know the boy is mine."
Nadir leaned forward and pushed me roughly against the wall again. I had no choice but to look at him. Inside I feebly seethed that I lacked any strength to resist him. "That was why I warned you to stay away from her! You have no idea how much damage you do to others! It's staggering!"
My eyes drifted down to the dark brown silk cravat he had tied about his neck and tucked deeply into his vest. As he regained his breath from his tirade, I reached out a finger and loosened the knot, pulling back the concealing folds and revealing the dark purple bruising on his neck. Bruising in the shape of my long fingers. Sorrowfully I met his eyes again. "I know all to well what I am capable of . . . Daroga."
"Don't call me that!" He snarled.
I closed my eyes against the well of fear. "What better term for the man who intends to be my jailer."
Nadir took an involuntary step back from me. When I once more had the fortitude to open my eyes, I observed the shock that colored his features. "Erik—you didn't hear!"
I nodded slowly.
"How much?"
"Enough to know, once more, that which I value most is at risk. You think a simple pipe dream would be sufficient to drive me before the torture of my own reflection?" My hand slid behind me, caressing the lifeless glass that held the power to amaze and destroy a man. "The betrayal of those words certainly held the greater incentive. It appears I am not the only one who has inflicted damage of late." There was no bite to those words, only weary resignation. I could find no other way to inform Nadir that his suspicions were not helping me; rather it was having the effect of pushing me closer to the edge. I noted his eyes drifted down towards my wrists. Drawing them together before me, I observed how they shook. I could not hold them still. It didn't matter, I knew he would remember, even as I painstakingly closed my hands into fists to recreate the image of past.
The anger in his eyes was dwindling. "Oh Allah. Your last night Persia, the ropes I bound you with … you resisted only slightly. The tension in your hands … "
"I had not told you of the Gypsy cage where I had been bound for display as the Living Corpse." I replied solemnly. "You had no way of knowing that past cruelty. When you came to arrest me, what stayed my hand from beating you senseless for even suggesting binding me was trust. I trusted that you had not been deceiving me even as I had played you like a pawn in those courts. And I still do not entirely comprehend why you released me on the road rather than condemning me to be put to death before the shah and khanum as I had deserved. Likely in one of the very chambers I had designed for their amusement."
It was his turn for stunned silence, his eyes were still locked on my thin wrists which lingered in the same position I had offered him. We had been so young then. Four decades ago with so much to learn of the world. I had been a harsh teacher and an even worse pupil due to the stiff arrogance that had been both my undoing and his by association.
"Daroga." I used the title purposefully, intending to call back the feeling of those days. "If you think I never look back with remorse surely you should have learned better by now. What do you think those sporadic days of melancholy are comprised of? Yes, there was a time when I had savagely torn myself from the fabric of morality and dared to believe I could not fall from the pinnacle of my masterpiece. That time has passed. And the cost was dearer to me than I have ever fully acknowledged." Pausing for a moment, I had to push away the surge of sorrow that threatened to lash me. "Do you know why I cannot? Do you understand why it is that I cannot fully face that dark past?"
Nadir looked up at me. Without the flame of anger, I saw once again before me the man who risked everything all those years ago. And even now, a man who stayed knowingly at the risk of his life.
My words trembled. "Because I had knowingly embraced it." He did not speak, only a slight shift of his frame as he turned those words around in his head. "You say I took leave of my senses … that is not true. I consciously knew what I had planned. I had embraced the Phantom and flung myself headlong into the role the world had cast me in." I lowered my eyes in deep shame. "Yes, Nadir, that means I had consciously decided killing you was worth it if it meant Raoul died as well."
He executed a staggered step backwards. "You have come to terms with this?"
I shook my head. "No. I have not forgiven myself for that act of supreme weakness. At the time, I had considered the plan flawless. I had let go of any real desire to be human. But it was not unconscious as you say, Nadir. It had been fully premeditated on the roof of the Opera … down to the last detail."
The sadness in his eyes welled up.
Daring myself to stand on my own without the aid of the mirror, I took a step toward him. I possessed a modicum of balance sufficient to shakily stand before him. "I let you believe I had simply lost my senses because it required less explanation. Regret is not even in the same realm of how I truly feel about that night. Why do you think I hardly fought you when you suggested the idea of deceiving her into believing I had died. I had realized just how much I would willingly relinquish, and I could not risk that depth of travesty again."
"It was easier … " he began softy, "to think you had simply gone mad."
I heaved a long sigh. "Nadir, I swear to you, this is the truth. No secrets. Over the past days I have been tested by fate no less than three times and each and every time I have successfully turned away. When Chantelli tried to unmask me in the meeting, I only stayed his hand and gave him a tongue lashing. Ruescher came so close he nearly struck me with his cane. I only took that from him and broke it over my knee before giving it back. Both men are still breathing. The greatest test was finding that boy asleep in my opium den. When I left, he still breathed … racking up an alarming bill."
Nadir cocked his head. "Which boy? What are you talking about."
"Raoul." I replied wearily before realizing what I was admitting.
"Raoul de Chagny was at the Phoenix Pavilion?" He slowly connected the pieces. "Oh Allah! Erik, don't you dare collect the bill in blood from him!"
I shrugged. "It is not my concern at the moment. I am merely keeping an eye on his activities and not liking what I am learning."
There was a frantic air infecting Nadir's motions. "Erik, you can't—just leave him be. Do not touch Chagny!"
Raising my hand, I showed him the full tremor I could not quell. "You really think I would try it now? Seriously, Nadir. I do not truly have a death wish. The boy's fate is his own. He is merely being tailed for informative purposes."
He took a step towards me and placed a firm hand on my shoulder. "Erik, do not delve down those dark paths again. You regretted before. Would it be wise to repeat that act again?"
"Impossible. There is no chandelier in the main Music Hall." It seemed obvious to me.
Nadir scowled. He must have assumed I wasn't being serious and treating this like a joke.
I placed my hand on his shoulder in return, trying to force it to be still. "I swear to you, Nadir. I will not allow myself to fall from that pinnacle again. Though right now I am a shambles, I will find some way to restore your trust in me. Promise me you will give me the benefit of the doubt and time to pick up my shattered pride. Do not be so quick to turn the key." He was about to reply when I held up a hand to stop him. It took me a moment to find the courage to even think about my next words. I could not look him in the eyes. "If it should come to that … I will do so myself, willingly."
Under my hand I felt his muscles tighten. "I don't want to even consider what you mean by that."
I let my hand break contact as I made my way towards the door. "It is not what you are contemplating … ending my life by my own hand is something I could never do or I surely would have by now—countless times."
"Where are you going?" He started to follow me.
"To be alone with my thoughts, Nadir." There was no denying I was tired and still rattled from the experience. "Do not even suggest sleep right now. It is the last thing I want to attempt after last night." He was right behind me, almost too close. I turned and tried to glare down at him. Given my condition I doubted it had even a shadow of the effect I could usually render with ease. He didn't even flinch. That having failed, I rolled my eyes wearily. "My old friend, please understand that being alone with my thoughts actually means being alone this time."
"Don't do anything foolish, Erik." He fixed me with a firm glare. "You need to think clearly, smoky hazes will not help you find your way."
I turned from him, waving a hand in reply as I strode for the stairway down to the second floor. My wasted strength was at least not complicated by a lack of depth perception this time. Good, I had recovered before from having drained every ounce of my physical reserves. It took time and I had to be careful not to tax my body in the process. The effects of the opium overindulgence would gradually abate, my coordination would return, and once my head stopped throbbing like it was in a vice, I would be able to come up with some plan to demonstrate to Nadir that I was reasserting control over my faculties. Right now it would simply be nice to have control over my twitching muscles. By tomorrow afternoon, with no small amount of effort, I should be able to resemble something of myself—at least on the outside. My grandest illusion always had been a calm veneer over my turbulent inner thoughts.
I found my room empty, thankfully, as I switched into clean clothing. There was another ruined suit. Tucking the burgundy cravat into my fresh vest and securing it with an opal tie tack, I walked out into the study, pondering what to do. My coordination was too lacking to work on any devices. Music was out of the question as my headache would hardly benefit from the vibrations. Drafting … oh yes, shaking hands make fantastically straight lines. Snatching the orbs from my desk, I slipped out onto the balcony. If I dropped one, it would likely break. Not like I didn't have many sets scattered around the house.
Nervous twitch this was not. I owned the initiative this time having chosen to take them up. Rolling the balls clockwise, I was halfway through the first rotation when a ball slipped out of the confines of my hand! Somehow, my right hand darted down and caught it just in time. Putting it back in place, I started the pattern again only making it a few short passes before two slipped out. I barely caught them. Damn it, I can do this without even thinking—why couldn't I do it now? This was supposed to be relaxing, not frustrating. Time and again I tried to start the pattern and each time discovered my hand unable to confine the crystal balls.
"Merde!" I shouted when one of the balls hit the ground and rolled back into my study. Following the object into the room, I tried to catch it before it rolled beneath the desk.
"Merde?" The echo of my curse originated from a rather young throat.
I shot up from behind the desk to find Charles wide awake and watching me from the couch. I realized too late that he had heard and repeated the vulgar French curse. "Do not repeat that! Never let your mother hear you say that!"
"I have heard Father use it before. What does it mean?" He asked curiously as I reached under the desk trying to blindly locate the small rogue ball.
"It is a bad word … " I grunted. "I should not have said it around you." At last my clumsy fingers found it and I returned the objects to my pocket. Standing back up from behind the desk, I brushed myself off.
He replied innocently, "Words aren't good or bad, they're just words."
I closed the distance between us, not wanting to even retort his misconception. "Since you are awake, shall I take a look and see how things are healing."
"It itches." He wriggled his fingers in the air. "But I haven't been scratching—much."
"You should not scratch it at all." Pulling the dressing back I was pleased to see the wound healing nicely. The swelling had greatly decreased and there was hardly any weeping from the intentional gaps I had produced. It needed a good cleansing, but it was promising. "Let me just tend it a little. I will try and warm things up so it does not sting when I clean it."
He watched my hands as I vigorously rolled a small amber glass bottle back and forth between them. This wasn't whiskey, it was hydrogen peroxide. Offering me a little smile, he locked eyes with mine. "Mother spoke of you often in her sleep. I didn't know it was you at first. But it has to be you."
"Do not be silly." I smirked, still warming the bottle between my hands. "Why would she have been talking about me?"
He giggled, "You're tall, and graceful, and gentle."
I eyed him sideways. "Your mother likely knows many tall, graceful, and gentle men."
"Not named Erik." He grinned. "She said your name every night. When I asked her, she told me it was someone she once knew. You must be her lost bemuse."
Applying a small amount of the bubbling fluid to the wound, I found my thoughts a little confused by the boy's choice of words. As I wiped the bubbles away, the proper term hit me. "Muse, you mean muse."
"Yes, that was the word … whatever that is. Must be something nice cause she smiled really pretty when she said it." He watched me as I cleansed the wound again.
"A muse," I began distractedly, "is an inspiration to someone. Every artist has at least one at some point. It can be an object, a place, a person. Anything really." I suppose it wasn't a surprise she considered me her muse. After all I did teach her how to hone her singing voice. And it was my inspiration that led her to the front of the stage.
"An angel of music."
My fingers stopped for a moment, the trembling had not diminished. "She told you about that?"
"In her sleep, she said it. But you're not an angel. You're a person." He was amused, just a child working through some story he had heard.
I offered him a slight nod. "It was a surprise to your mother as well, that I had been real. When we first met she did not actually see me for some time."
"Why?"
Because I was hiding behind her mirror, casting my voice into her head, honestly too shy to reveal myself. But I couldn't tell him that. "I was her vocal teacher for some time. And at first there was a complication that meant we did not actually see each other."
His fingers began to coil the cushion tassel around them, back and forth. "She missed the stages, but whenever the papers arrived and told her she got a part, Father told her she couldn't sing. I wish she had more often. I like it when Mother sings. It's so pretty and she's so happy when she sings."
Gently scrubbing the sides of the wound, I cocked my head. "Your Father refused to let her sing?" How terribly rude of him to silence such a gift.
He nodded firmly. "For a bit. Mother told him she had lost her muse some time ago. But now that she found you, maybe she will sing more again. I would like that. Will you tell her to sing more, Erik?"
My fingers gently probed over the wound, the temperature was good. Just slightly warm. Snapped out of my thoughts, I nodded in return. "Of course I will ask her to. If she will is up to her." I wasn't about to force anyone to do anything. Especially with how I was feeling right now about the consequences of my previous games.
"She once took me to a theater and there was this big—Oww!" He had spread his arms wide, it tugged on the stitches before I had a chance to stop him.
"Careful, Charles. You do not want to move too much yet. The stitches are all that is holding you together right now." I adjusted the pillow under him as he shifted, trying to get comfortable again.
"Err, I don't like stitches. They're itchy. Have you ever had stitches?" He asked as his hands began to pull at the old discarded dressings, I had yet to put fresh ones on him. It appeared if I didn't hurry he might start removing the stitches with idle fingers.
"Yes, in fact I could not have been older than you when I was stabbed." I drew my blade through a linen strip, making the new fabric smaller for the task.
"What happened, was it like mine?" Innocent curiosity lingered in his voice.
Making a few more strips, I sorted through no less than three different explanations before deciding. "No, it was not like yours. In fact it was deeper, a puncture to my chest. You were merely slashed, it is not deep so much as broad."
His eyes grew wide, searching the front of my vest as if he might catch a glance beneath the fabric. "Did it leave a scar? Can I see it? I wanna know what mine might look like."
Children by nature didn't know when they were being cruel. He was so curious, maybe it would be a comfort for him to see what time would leave behind. Against my inner trepidation, I forced my fingers to undo the buttons of my vest, and then just enough of my shirt. Somehow it didn't seem so threatening, so strange when I shifted the fabric and showed him the faded scar between my ribs. Time had nearly erased the small pin point punctures of the needle that had closed the old knife wound. The straight line ridge was still visible as scar tissue. I had been lucky the villagers of Boscherville had not had good enough aim to inflict a lethal wound upon me. They had managed to kill Sasha, my beloved dog. But I had survived the onslaught.
His fingers reached out, sliding from one edge to the other, exploring the contours as I watched, trying very hard not to hold my breath. My son was touching my chest, without fear, without apprehension. His fingers sought contact with me. "Why would someone have done this to you?" His eyes were studying it, each tiny little scar the needle had left behind.
"Some men … " I began hesitantly, "fear that which they do not understand. And in doing so, they wish great harm upon what they fear. It happened in the village where I was born."
His fingers danced over my rib cage, almost tickling me. The sensation was beginning to unnerve me, so I withdrew from his reach and began to refasten my shirt buttons. "I see now … " He muttered as if halfway through some revelation. "So that's why you are a seeker of knowledge. If you understand everything you won't be afraid of anything."
My fingers struggled with the final button of my vest, taking me a full three times to get it right. This was going to be hard to explain. Gently, I laid a hand on top of his head and met his eyes. "Oh Charles, were that the way the world worked; but it is infinitely far more complicated. I only pray that you do not have to learn as harshly as I, nor half so swiftly." He looked perplexed as I took up the bandages and started to dress his wound. I did not want to dwell on the words I spoke next, but I could not spare him this confession. "Fear is and always has been my constant companion."
"What do you have to fear? You're so brave, you jumped in the dark river and pulled me out. And you're so smart, you know so much."
I sighed as I adjusted the dressing. "Charles, it is not so simple. The world can be just as dangerous as it is beautiful. A fearless man would find his recklessness ending his life rather abruptly. Fear keeps us from doing some very foolish things."
"Who would want to hurt you?" When I didn't answer him, he cocked his head. "Why are you so sad?"
Finished dressing the wound, I leaned back on my elbows, lying on the floor before the couch. Just below eye level with the boy, I shrugged, purposefully avoiding the first question. "I am honestly not feeling very well right now." As he studied me a little closer, I found a way to explain it. "Charles, have you ever eaten too many chocolates?" He nodded vigorously. Good, this would be easy to explain with the simile. "You felt rather ill afterward, did you not? Something like that happened to me last night."
Giving a stiff nod, he offered in a serious tone, "You should throw up. That always made me feel much better."
I stared at him, the simple logic was amusing. Dropping my chin to my chest, I was forced to fight a little burst of laughter. "Well, Charles, that already happened … and it did not help. To be honest, it is going to be quite a while before I feel like myself again. I really only have myself to blame."
Beside me, Charles was quiet, his fingers folded and unfolded the edge of the comforter. "Maybe if Mother sings for you. It always makes me feel better when she sings me a lullaby."
A sad laugh escaped me. How could I explain to him that was the problem? Her voice, her very presence was simultaneously a remedy and a toxin in my life. Currently my own reckless behavior, driven by irrational fear, had stripped me of the skills I would need to even approach neutralizing the poison. That was as far towards a solution as I had managed to drag myself. Besides, she would never sing for me. Those days ended the day that Raoul slipped a ring on her finger. I rested my head against the couch feeling decidedly worse.
"Erik?"
I must have been drifting off as I had to force my eyes open. "Mmm?"
"When I get better, can I see the rest of your house?" His small hand hung over the edge of the couch, hovering in my sight.
"Of course you can." I replied sluggishly. This period of inactivity was doing me no good whatsoever. If I didn't get up soon I knew I was going to fall asleep. "I shall take you myself as soon as you can be carried." The trouble was, I couldn't summon the strength to get up. There was nothing left. Even the trembling had stopped and I only now noticed it had been numbed by the wash of exhaustion. I was an oil lamp with only residue left on the wick, my flame flickered, threatening to go out and cast me into darkness.
"I hope it is as nice as this room. So beautiful, and warm, and safe." His voice was growing more distant, I tried to anchor myself to it but my hold was slipping.
"Safe … my home? That seems like a strange word for it." A yawn escaped me.
"It is, though. So much bigger than our homes back in Paris."
"Homes?" I let the word drift out. Concentrate, stay awake. Don't let go. "You had more than one?"
"Yes, we had to move from place to place." His fingers danced in the air, wriggling in a nonsense pattern before my narrowing vision. "My room got smaller and smaller. Even some of our things had to go. Mother said it was because there wasn't enough space for it all."
"Mmm, that is a shame." My eyes took longer to open each time they shut. I didn't want to sleep, I did not want to dream. No more of that inner world. Everything was slipping into black. If he said anything more, I did not hear it. If I replied, I do not recall. How much time was passing I had no way of knowing.
A hand slid back behind my neck. The sensation dragged enough consciousness to the surface for my muscles to tense and my hearing to return. "Erik, it's me. Don't strike out." It was Nadir, his voice falsely calm. "You fell asleep sitting up, I'm only going to help lie you down before you fall over. Just relax."
He had enough sense to warn me of his intentions. I was barely there, just lingering below the surface as he levered me down to the floor. My eyelids flickered open enough to catch a hazy glimpse of the study and Nadir's worried features.
"Shouldn't we move him to the bed?" Christine's voice floated from behind him.
I feebly shifted, not wanting her to see this. No, don't be here. Don't let her see me like this.
"Erik, just relax." Nadir laid a hand on my shoulder. "No, we'd risk him waking further if we moved him. He needs to rest, at least he's on the rug and not on the stone floor." He paused for a moment before sighing. "I didn't realize when I confronted him earlier just how drained he was. I should have known, I should have seen those signs. I shouldn't have pushed him so hard. I fear I am partially to blame now."
"Mother … " Charles spoke above me, "we were just talking and then he just stopped. I tried to wake him."
"It's alright, Angel." She soothed him. "Erik is just extremely tired right now."
"He's sick, isn't he." The boy asked quietly.
Nadir replied softly, "He's likely going to be, save for that I am all too aware of his resistance to that which plagues most men. If we can help him get some deep sleep, it may be possible he will recover quickly. I still do not understand how he can push himself to the brink time and again and somehow always managed to get back onto his feet remarkably fast."
I was cursed with good health. Everything seemed to pulse through me faster and I had no idea why. I once slipped Nadir a little of my sleeping draught. True, one full dose allows me to sleep the clock around without a dream, feeling refreshed when I awake. Nadir, on half that dose slept it around thrice and was quite groggy upon waking. He had thought he had eaten something bad for dinner the night before. I never told him he had lost an entire day.
"Christine, fetch me that blanket." His hand came down on my shoulder once more. "Erik, I know you can hear me. Earlier you told me you didn't want to risk sleeping. I understand why, but you've lost that fight. I have one of the vials here. I'll even let you feel the wax seal you place on all of them, proof that I have not altered it. I suggest you let me give this to you." He lifted my hand and let me feel the top of the metal vial. Cracking one eye open, I focused on it, he was right it had been sealed by me. "Just twitch your finger if you agree." I didn't want to. Even dreamless, I was wary of it. But the man was right, I was already on the floor. As my eye closed of its own accord, my finger twitched beneath his. Without hesitation, he pulled off the seal and made me swallow the fluid inside. "Now, just let it take you." It wasn't that quick, old friend. It takes a little time to be ingested.
I felt the weight of the blanket being draped across me as Christine asked, "He's going to be alright, won't he?"
"I hope so." He sighed, "I have seen him through some harsh times before, but this is the farthest he has pushed himself. I'm sure the overindulgence the other night did not help. The night terrors of the dragon can be extremely realistic. And knowing Erik's past … well, I must say that what he did tell me he saw was enough to leave me shaken. There is no wonder he has collapsed in exhaustion from the fighting that never ends for him."
Was he finally beginning to realize why I was who I was? What strength and reserve it took to endure on a daily basis? It's very easy for a man like him to go about his daily activities with little trouble. Trade places with me and the experience becomes incredibly more complex.
"I should have been more careful." He muttered.
"You couldn't have known." She had moved closer to him. "He hides things well. Even I know that he conceals everything that he doesn't wish seen."
"That's not what I mean." Replied Nadir softly, "He heard us the other night. He came down from the roof and heard me when I … well … " he was struggling for the words. "When I mentioned turning the key."
Christine inhaled sharply. "Oh no. He must be furious!"
"No." His voice was pensive, "He was heartbroken. You should have seen the pain in his eyes when he revealed my betrayal. I had no choice but to look away from him. He swore to me that what we were seeing wasn't the truth. He swore he could control it. In the end he made me promise to give him a chance to prove it to us." A long pause stretched out. "Christine, I don't know if I can. Whenever I watch him, I find my subconscious always second guessing his motives. I know what he is capable of."
Now the concoction was beginning to pull me under. I felt the slow ebb of my hearing. The voices growing more distant, as my sensations began to numb. I wanted to hold on, just a few more sentences. I needed to hear just a little more ….
"What does your heart tell you, Nadir … " Christine's words were the last I could hold on to before my thread of consciousness released me to sink into the depths.
When my eyes opened again, the world outside the windows was dark. The full moon cast her silver rays over the floor. Charles was snoring peacefully above me, his small hand hanging limply in the air. I lifted my own hand from under the blanket, studying it to see if it trembled. Not the slightest motion. Gently, I pushed myself up off the floor. My body was not entirely back to full strength; however my balance and natural grace had returned. I slid my hand into my pocket and procured the three orbs. This would be the test.
Kicking them into motion, I began the simple pattern of rotation. Producing that much, I complicated the pattern by flipping one ball over the others. There was no catch, no feeble slipping, my dexterity was back. Another good session of sleep should return me to my full physical strength. That was the easy part.
As I walked through the quiet halls of my home to the laboratory on my third floor, I could not help but consider how much longer the mind took to recover than the body. There were so many proverbs, the most striking of which came from Oriental origins. I had come across the notion after having left Persia's courts behind. What a shame, as I would have simply loved to have applied it to the shah and his khanum. It had been said that one could live beside a man all the days of his life, share every nuance of his existence and yet never really know who he is until he is made to face his true fear. Only then would it be possible to see the true core. Indeed, all my life I had been in denial to my true nature. I was a coward.
The word was bitter, even in my thoughts. I could not even begin to speak it aloud. But this last day had pried the truth from me without remorse. How often had I run from the mere prospect of someone really getting to know me? How often had my actions been driven by fear? Fear that my secrets would be revealed, that I would be subjected to the hatred of the world. Even now, I was afraid of facing Christine, knowing that she would never stay. The shallow veneer of my insufferable pride, as Nadir had rightly dubbed it, had been my vain attempt to cover my inner paranoia of the world seeing me as I really was.
Clearing off the bench, I filled a container with water and lit the burner under it. While the water came to a boil, I collected the dried plants I needed to make a new batch of the sleeping draught. Tossing them into a mortar, I began to violently grind them with the pestle. It needed to be a fine powder to go into solution properly, and even then it was a timely procedure.
The dragon had revealed to me what I was, and I did not like it. I refused to accept this fate. Somehow I had to rebuild myself, stronger this time. More resilient to the prying eyes of the world. Somehow I had to convince not just those around me but myself that I had nothing to be afraid of in this world. I had always shown a confidence I did not fully feel. Perhaps it was time to render that a reality.
Construction takes time, that was a luxury I did not have. For now, I would have to play an elaborate illusion of stability while I shored things up behind the scenes. I was about to commence my grandest performance. If I failed—my freedom was forfeit.
